


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by Felgia_Starr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, HP Drizzle Fest 2019, Post-Break Up, Sad, Snow, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 22:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19484986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: After Hermione left him three years ago on a cold winter night, Draco spends every snowstorm thinking of her. Tonight is no different.





	Cold Hands, Warm Heart

The trees from outside his home stood seemingly lifeless, and even though no leaves remained on their branches, Draco could still hear the phantom whistles of what used to be there, softly rapping on the ancient windows that surrounded him. Darkness embraced Malfoy Manor like an old lover, begging for reciprocation, and the fireplace he’d lit earlier for a semblance of warmth couldn’t hold a candle to the lonesome whispers of winter. Though, every-so-often, he swore he could hear ghosts running rampant through his halls, always away from him. Who knew? Perhaps they were happier without him here.   
  
All he knew was that happiness seemed to stay far, far away from him. It was like someone warned happiness not to let him in, to make sure he couldn’t even catch a glimpse of it—and it looked like the warning worked.   
  
When Draco tried to look out the window to search for a hint of happiness, he was unable to find anything but cold, dead things. In fact, he’d looked out so many times that he was sure he was turning into one of those cold, dead things. Maybe it was good for him to be unfeeling and lifeless—maybe it was better than the cruel joke he was currently living.   
  
He sighed, relieved that the weather outside couldn’t freeze his breath the way it froze his heart. At least some parts of him still remained alive, even if he felt like anything but on the inside.   
  
He was pathetic, he knew, but what else could he be? He couldn’t be angry, not anymore. He couldn’t be desperate. He couldn’t be hopeful if he couldn’t even be happy for more than two seconds.   
  
How could he cope other than to be miserable? Cowardice was his best friend, and depression was his brother. They were all that he had, all that remained of his family. They both had been there for him when no one else was. How could he let go of them when they were the ones who kept a tight hold on his sanity?   
  
Draco raised his goblet, one of his father’s favourites before he’d drunk himself to the grave, and gulped down all that remained of the aged wine within it. The wine failed to warm his throat and stomach, though. He still remained as cold and frozen as ever.   
  
And God was he cold. His fingers paled and shook from the lack of warmth, his lips drying up by the second. His eyelashes seemed to transform themselves into tiny little icicles to pierce his already lifeless soul. He could feel the veins and arteries that kept his body going beginning to freeze the blood inside. 

There was a global winter going on in his body, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.  
  
Draco looked outside again, still searching for a bit of warmth and cosiness, still finding nothing but dark and frozen things.  
  
He shut his eyes, attempting to lift himself up by remembering a fond memory or something but, of course, what he saw instead was _her._   
  
Every night, she knocked on the door of his dreaming mind and mostly just let herself in. He didn’t mind, of course; he would give anything in the world if it meant he could see her every minute of the day—even if only in his dreams.   
  
He hadn’t seen her in person in three years now, but he could still draw her face from memory.  
  
Hermione Granger had brown eyes, the brightest shade he’d ever seen, accompanied by long, curled eyelashes. She had a small nose, one he’d always enjoyed pressing kisses to back when she used to enjoy it too. Once upon a time, he considered her smile as pure light and her lips as heaven.   
  
She'd told him once that she loved winter, mostly because of the Yuletide season, but she also adored snow. She loved the way it fell upon her skin, the way it made her shiver with the simplest touch. For those reasons alone, it was no wonder why he utterly detested winter.  
  
To him, winter nights were lonelier than normal. The snow that whistled about his surroundings effectively dropped the temperature, causing everything to shiver. Even the trees that were constantly surrounded by living things seemed to stand still and freeze during winter. He wanted to say that the icy weather made him numb to the bones, but he still felt every snowy wisp under his skin.  
  
It was also a snowy night like this when she walked away from his life. Draco remembered it clearly: December 27th. The Christmas decorations had still been up. Some of his gifts to her hadn’t even been opened yet. The grin on his face had been as big as the hole in her heart that night. He’d bought her several presents because he wanted to spoil her, to make her feel special.   
  
Apparently, he hadn’t been enough.  
  
“ _Draco, I don’t think we should be together any—anymore._ ” He remembered Hermione’s eyes that night—her sweet breathtaking brown eyes that had refused to stare back at him as she said those words. “ _I’ve been thinking and I—I’m sorry._ ”  
  
He remembered asking himself what she was apologizing for.  
  
“ _You know me—I’ve been trying to make it in this dance thing since I was three years old. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted my entire life._ ” He remembered how awfully sad the chuckle that had fallen off her lips sounded and how he’d wanted to take away all her miseries. “ _I just—I don’t think that I’m ready. I don’t think I should be in this—in a relationship—while I’m trying to… erm… achieve my dreams. It’s—I’m sorry, but it’s distracting, and I can’t—and you know I can’t risk distractions when I’m this close to making it up there.”_ __  
__  
He remembered asking her what he’d done wrong.  
  
“ _No! You didn't do anything wrong! It’s me! It’s just I can’t—I’m… I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. We’ve been falling apart since… I don’t even know… and I don’t want to hurt you—believe me when I say that I have never wanted to hurt you. I love you, but it’s just—my career comes first and I know you know that. I want to make it out there. I want to dance until everyone’s heard of me. And I don’t think—I don’t know if I can do that if I’m in a relationship._ ”  
  
Oh, his sweet little ballerina who rehearsed until her knees shook and gave up, until her toes ached and went numb, until she got every step perfect—why did she leave him like so? Like he wasn’t worth fighting for anymore. Like she'd been through hell and back just trying to keep their relationship stable and she couldn’t do it anymore.  
  
Never had he known Hermione to give up on something until their breakup. Admittedly, when she’d finally broken down and told him she couldn’t fight for him any longer, he’d lost faith in himself. If Hermione, the girl who never surrendered—even when she knew it was a lost cause—gave up on him, then he must be beyond help.  
  
How could he be worth anything if the strongest woman he’d ever known hadn’t even attempted to fight for him?  
  
Maybe he just wasn’t worth the fight. Maybe he just wasn’t worth the pain. Maybe he just wasn’t the reward she'd been looking for.   
  
Draco rubbed his eyes, growing annoyed with himself. He wanted to say he understood her actions, but after three years all he could understand was she never truly loved him.  
  
“ _I want you to—please remember that I love you. Never think th—don’t you ever doubt that. I love you, and I—I know you know that. It’s just… it’s all wrong timing. I’m sorry. I love you._ ” He remembered the tears that fell off her lashes as she struggled to say those words.  
  
Maybe she had loved him. Maybe it just wasn’t enough. Maybe _he_ hadn’t been enough for her and that was the real problem.  
  
The strong winter winds slammed against the windows of his bedroom, demanding entrance as they seemingly continued to laugh at him. It was like the cruel and cold weather knew that he was brooding and being pathetic and wanted to make him feel even worse.   
  
What the fuck was he doing with his life? Here he was, on a cold winter night, blaming the weather of all things for all his problems. There was a time when he was confident and proud, when he was happy and free. What had happened?  
  
Hermione.  
  
It was all her fault.   
  
Why did she have to leave him?  
  
What did he do wrong?  
  
Tears fell down his eyes in small drops, and for a split second, he wished the weather would freeze them off his face.  
  
After three years of trying to forget her—of drinking to erase the memories, of sleeping with different people just to make himself feel better—his question for Hermione remained the same.  
__  
_What did I do wrong?_ __  
__  
A sob was wrenched from his throat, forcing his mouth open until he became the person he turned into during his worst days—a whimpering mess, begging for someone who wasn’t even there to stay, to hold him until he didn't know where he ended and she began.  
  
“Please,” he whispered into the cold and dark night, hoping the winter winds would carry his message right on her front door, yet knowing that even if his messages were sent, she would never care to hear or read them.   
  
“Hermione.” Her name still tasted as bittersweet as ever on his tongue, and no matter how bitter it got on some days he would still utter it every night like a prayer to keep all his demons away. It never fully drove the monsters away, but her name made him feel safe, made him feel like the brave man he knew he wasn’t.   
  
Why did the pain never go away?   
  
After three years, nothing changed. He was still missing her, grieving her, and loving her quietly. He was still waiting for her to come back every night, expecting she would be at the gates of Malfoy Manor in the morning, and the disappointment he felt every time he saw she wasn’t anywhere near him grew more painful day after day.  
  
Why was it so hard for him to move on?  
  
He’d tried to feel nothing, to be nothing. He tried to be an insignificant speck of light, never to be seen by others. He tried to swallow himself whole, to let the emotions replace his limbs. He tried to remain unknown and unimportant. He tried to stop existing.   
  
Draco could never pretend __she was nothing, though. Truthfully, she was everything to him—Hermione was love, happiness, hope, acceptance, courage, and all those sweet things. She was the only good part of his life, but he was the worst of hers.  
  
Why couldn’t he ever compare to her career? How was he somehow less important than—  
  
The cold winds pelted his windows once more, reminding Draco of the present. Staring out into the blizzard again, he sighed, ignoring the tears that continued to stream down his face, and muttered under his breath, “When will it end?”  
  
The snow went on, the wind breezed through, and the night turned colder.  
  
When would it all end? His pain, the winter, and the dark abyss that had become of his soul—when would they all go away?  
  
Of course, Draco didn’t know the correct answer; in fact, he rarely got anything right. All he knew was that he looked forward to it—to the ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to NuclearNik for beta’ing this little piece. Love you, girl! Thank you also to the mods of this wonderful fest! Go and read the entire collection!
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story/art is part of an anonymous fest: drizzle 2019. Reveals will be in mid-October. Please do not repost anywhere else without explicit permission from the original creator.


End file.
